Chasing Tail
by Scribblesinink
Summary: Tig may not trust Kozik enough to let him patch in, but the reverse isn't true. So when Kozik makes plans to move back to Tacoma, he charges Tig with looking after his new girl.


**Author notes**: Likely to be jossed come September. Until then, enjoy. Thanks to Tanaqui for betaing.

_**Chasing Tail**_

_**By Scribblesinink**_

"Now, behave, boys. We don't wanna see ya here again." With this last word of advice, the door of Stockton penitentiary slammed shut behind them, almost catching Juice—the doofus, of course, being slowest to walk out. The sun was climbing, already warm on Tig's face, though the air was still crisp, and he tilted his head back and took a deep breath. Wasn't like they hadn't been allowed out into the yard regularly during the past fourteen months to get some air, but it smelled different on this side of the barbed-wire-topped wall.

Smelled of freedom, of the open road...

"Tig, c'mon." Someone, probably Bobby, jabbed him in the ribs and back to the present. At the curb, Kozik was waiting with the van, its engine idling. Tig's eyes narrowed but he grudgingly allowed, if only to himself, that it was a bit excessive to expect anyone to lug six bikes over to the jail just so they could climb right back on as soon as they'd been released. Still, he'd've given his right arm to have his bike there instead of Kozik.

Hopping into the back of the van after the others, Tig crinkled his nose. There was a vague musky scent hanging in the van that reminded him of... of something. He couldn't quite figure out what it was, though. And before he managed to take another whiff, the smell was drowned out by the scent of leather and cigarettes as his brothers shrugged back into the cuts that Kozik _had_ brought and lit up smokes.

Sliding his own cut onto his shoulders, Tig puffed out a breath in sheer pleasure at the feel of it as it settled. This was right. Clay, as if in silent agreement, took a deep pull from a freshly lit cigar, the point glowing briefly, before he blew a stream of sweet-smelling smoke in the direction of the van's ceiling. "Ah, I missed this."

Kozik grinned at the club president, looking pleased with himself, but Tig reckoned Gemma had more to do with the cigar than Kozik. He ignored the grin, though: if Kozik wanted to take the credit, well, let him. Tig wasn't about to let it sour his good mood.

A loud and somewhat rowdy ride later, they turned into the parking lot at Teller-Morrow. Their bikes stood lined up in a row, sleek, black machines, and Tig's heart swelled. Chrome and paintwork gleamed and sparkled, polished to a shine; looked like Ope and Piney had taken good care of those babies. Tig's hands itched to fire up and just roar off, letting the wind lash at his face and clothes as he cracked the throttle.

But not yet.

"Church in five." Clay dropped down from the van's front seat, shooting off the order across his shoulder before slamming the door. The rest of the club members jostled for the double doors out the back.

Kozik had come round from the driver's seat and stopped Tig just as he put his boots down on the oil-stained concrete. "Tiggy, hold up."

Out of all the nicknames, that was the one Tig hated the most; judging by the smirk on Kozik's face, the other man knew it.

"What?" It took an effort not to snap, but Tig was determined not to let Kozik get under his skin. Not today.

"Gotta favor to ask..." Kozik's expression sobered as he fished something out from under his cut.

Tig squinted suspiciously. "A leash?" _What the hell...?_

"Uh-huh." Kozik's smirk quickly faded, though, adding to Tig's alarm. "I reckon I'mma head back to Tacoma soon. Someone'll have to—."

Before he could finish, the sound of a dog barking broke the quiet of the afternoon. Tig twisted around at the sound. The guys were filing into the clubhouse, and it seemed opening the door had released the black and yellow beast that was now streaking across the lot, making a beeline for the van. "Missy?"

Even as the name escaped him, Tig knew it couldn't be. Missy had died eight—no, nine years ago. Cause goddamn Kozik failed to keep her inside the clubhouse while some of the guys visiting from Tacoma and Utah had been using the lot as a drag strip. If he closed his eyes, Tig could still see it, could still hear the sounds: the sickening thud, the screech of metal sliding over concrete, the pathetic whine from the injured dog...

"What the fuck is this?" Tig whirled on Kozik. The dog, upon reaching them, started jumping up against Kozik, scrabbling her paws against his leathers as she tried to lick his face. Able to take a closer look, Tig realized the coloring was all wrong for Missy, too, even if this dog was another German Shepherd.

Kozik laughed at the dog's ardor, pushing her off him. Tail wagging, she turned toward Tig, panting happily and snuffling up his scent.

Kozik offered Tig a rueful shrug. "Can't very well put her on the bitch pad, can I?" He still had the leash in his hands, and he held it out for Tig to take. "I thought—."

Tig snarled wordlessly when it finally dawned on him what Kozik was asking. But before he could speak—_You think you can just fucking replace her with another bitch?—_something cold and wet wormed its way into his balled fist, forcing his hand open. Glancing down, Tig saw it was the dog's nose, while her soft brown eyes peered up at him hopefully. At the sight, something inside his chest uncurled, and the words that did come out of his mouth when he finally spoke weren't the ones he'd planned to say. "Yeah. Sure." He leaned down slightly, patting the dog's head. "Hey girl." She yipped with pleasure.

When Tig straightened and accepted the leash, Kozik looked relieved. He grinned, pulling Tig into a hug before he could protest, and smacked his back, palm slapping against Tig's cut. "Welcome home, brother."

The dog gave a quick double bark, as if to say, _Me too_, before nuzzling Tig's legs. And if Tig held on to Kozik a heartbeat longer than he should have, nobody mentioned it. At last Tig stepped back. "Shouldn't let Clay wait," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah."

As they set off toward the clubhouse, the dog followed on Tig's heels—like she'd never done anything else. Listening to the soft panting behind him, Tig wrapped the leash around his wrist. _Yeah_, he decided: _this is right_.

**Disclaimer**: this story is a transformative work based on the Fox 21/FX Productions/Linson Entertainment/Sutter Ink television series _Sons of Anarchy_. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it nor was any infringement of copyright intended. Please do not redistribute elsewhere without the author's consent.


End file.
